I Hate You
by Hott
Summary: Why is Griffith insisting that all his Hawks go sunbathing--naked? And why is Gatsu so opposed to the idea?


Author's Note: Let me warn you that this fic is probably close to the limit of what ff.net deems acceptable. The lemony flavor here is quite distinct, so if you don't like that sort of thing, I suggest you look at something else.

I Hate You.

"Gatsu. I expect you in the field."

Gatsu continued to sharpen his dagger, the flint sparking along the keen steel. He didn't look up at the man standing at the open flap of his tent, and he didn't respond.

"I am serious."

Gatsu felt his teeth clench, forced them to relax. He scraped the flint along the steel, _shrik shrik shrik_, in a quick and restless rhythm, and glared down at his hands.

"Do you understand?"

_Shrik shrik shrik._ "It's a dumb idea," growled Gatsu.

"Whether or not you think it foolish is not the issue. I am your commander, and I have given you an order."

Gatsu's quick hands stopped. He stared at his blurry reflection in the newly sharpened steel.

He couldn't argue.

"Five minutes," said Griffith. When Gatsu risked looking up again, Griffith had gone.

Gatsu let out his breath in an angry hiss.

The bastard's doing this to me on purpose, he thought.

He set aside his flint and dagger and put his head in his hands. There was no way out of it, at least, no dignified way.

Gatsu suddenly pictured Griffith talking to himself, one sleek arm folded and his delicate chin in his other hand, head cocked, saying "Now how shall I torture Gatsu today? Bathing with him is losing its novelty, but I must be naked in front of him somehow… I've got it! Sunbathing. All my Hawks must sunbathe in order to get a tan as protection against the strong sun of the coming summer. Most excellent! My Hawks will get tougher skins, and Gatsu will be surrounded by a large crowd of nude men. It is too perfect!"

Gatsu shuddered. He hated to think how accurate this sudden daydream could actually be.

But his five minutes were up.

I hate you, Griffith, he thought.

Gatsu cursed and left his tent, then made his way to the field on the western edge of camp. Gatsu had entered battles with less anxiety than he felt now, and it worsened with each breath he took and each tent he passed. The camp was quiet; a full third were having their turn in the field today, and though Gatsu tried to tell himself that it could be worse (It could be the entire army), it didn't help much.

Nor did the sight of scores of nude battle-hardened men lounging in a field help much either.

Gatsu stopped at the edge of the crowd and swallowed. Before him was a sea of flesh, bodies rippling with sinew and scar and muscle, spattered with slick patches of sweat on foreheads or in the small of broad backs. Rough voices and laughter rippled over them like light on water, and men shifted or rolled over in small waves.

Oh my gods, thought Gatsu.

Then from somewhere in the center of the crowd, a sleek pale shape sat up and beckoned to him.

Even from the edge of the mob, Gatsu swore that he could see the gleefully sadistic glitter in Griffith's sky-blue eyes.

"Hoy!" called Griffith. "Gatsu! I have saved you a place!"

I hate you, Gatsu thought savagely. He took a deep breath and plunged into the supine crowd, picking his way among piles of clothes and tufts of grass and lazing sweat-slick bodies. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Griffith patted the space next to him as Gatsu approached. "Here," he said, and lay down on his back, baring the lithe length of his body to Gatsu as if were laying down a very fine bolt of cloth before him for inspection.

A very fine bolt indeed.

Gatsu forced his eyes away from the place between Griffth's legs and onto the ground at his feet as he undressed. I hate you, Gatsu thought, And I am not thinking about this. I'm thinking about fat old men. With lots of wrinkles. And no teeth and no hair and open sores, and not the way your goddamn eyes are burning into me while I'm trying to undress here—

Gatsu started to turn his back to Griffith, but what was the point? Naked men were everywhere he looked.

As soon as he had disrobed, Gatsu lay down in the grass on his stomach.

He shut his eyes. Next to him, Griffith said nothing, but Gatsu could hear him breathing. Gatsu realized in horror that he could also smell him, his sweat, his skin, the smell of musk and something seductively sweet, like pinewood or the crushed petals of an exotic flower.

Gatsu also realized in horror that a coy and insistent heat was growing between his legs and rising against his underbelly.

No, he thought. It's ok. I'm lying face-down. Nobody can notice. I'm face-down. Griffith, I HATE YOU you sly and manipulative bastard. I'm face down. I'm…

The wind changed. Griffith's scent filled his nose, and one of Griffth's long-fingered hands just barely brushed the edge of Gatsu's arm as Griffith shifted positions. The spidery touch of Griffith's nails raised goosebumps in their wake, and though the sun was warm, Gatsu had to suppress a shiver.

He opened his eyes, intending to stare determinedly at the grass. Mistake. On the periphery of his vision, he noticed a man arch his back into a luxuriant stretch, rocking his hips up towards the sun, the light glittering across his pubic hair.

Gatsu squeezed his eyes shut.

The heat under him was worsening.

And even though Gatsu tried his damndest to think of toothless old men instead, Griffith's scent and nearness plucked at him like fingers on a lyre, and his restless heat wouldn't abide.

"You have not turned," said Griffith.

Gatsu steeled himself and glanced at his commander. Griffith was now lying on his stomach, the sun winking off the smooth hard curves of his thighs and rear.

Gatsu squeezed his eyes shut again.

"If you do not turn soon, you will burn," said Griffith, "thus defeating  the purpose of getting a protective tan."

The heat under Gatsu throbbed. "I don't need to turn over yet," he said quickly.

"Soon," said Griffith. "A few minutes."

A few minutes. Gatsu thought of old women, severed limbs cluttering a battlefield, rotten vegetables, mosquito bites, freezing water, getting wounded, anything and everything unpleasant and uninteresting to his libido. Slowly, with immense effort and concentration, Gatsu's restlessness eased.

Good!! The stink of horses. Cold rainy weather. Poison ivy. Parasites… Gatsu's restlessness was vanishing.

Dirty kids! Trash in the street! Hairy women!

The restlessness disappeared.

Finally! thought Gatsu, in nervous relief.

A warm, long-fingered hand was suddenly placed on his shoulder. Griffith squeezed the muscle once, slow and deep, a thorough and intimately friendly touch, his nails pricking Gatsu's flesh like a sly hint.

At Griffith's touch, Gatsu felt all his heat return in a crazed rush.

"Now," said Griffith, "or you'll burn."

Gatsu's pulse leapt. He could feel it, in some places more so than in others, and once again thought of how much he hated him.

Griffth's hand slid away. Gatsu said, "Not yet."

"Now."

"Griffith—"

"This too," said Griffith, "is an order."

Gatsu opened his eyes in sudden fear.

Oh no. I am NOT turning over. Not now. Not for anything. All these people—

"Why are you not turning?" said Griffith.

"I said not yet!"

"And I said it was an order. Hmph. First you do not want to sunbathe, and now it seems you like it so much you wish to drag it out."

Oh, thought Gatsu miserably, but I DON'T like it… or, the problem is, I really DO…

"Turn," said Griffith. "I cannot have you needlessly injured."

"I'm not gonna get injured!"

"TURN," said Griffith.

Gatsu swallowed. A few men glanced at them, chuckled. Someone said, "Gatsu the Ever Cooperative," and someone else laughed.

Griffith sat up.

He said to Gatsu, "What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything! Just stop being so goddamn nit-picky! Who cares if I take a few more minutes!"

"You are hiding something," said Griffith. "Otherwise, you have no need to protest so much. What are you hiding?"

"Damnit—"

Griffith suddenly smiled. "Perhaps if I tickle you, you will turn."

"You wouldn't goddamned DARE."

Griffith grinned wolfishly and reached a clever hand towards Gatsu's ribcage.

Gatsu violently wriggled away. "I SAID—"

Inspiration suddenly struck. Gatsu faked a yelp, and in a flash he snatched his trousers, sat up, and held them to his crotch. He crouched over. "God fucking—"

"Gatsu?"

"Something bit me," he lied with a snap. Still holding his clothing against himself, he stood and made his way out of the crowd with the best faked limp he could manage.

As soon as he was clear, he ran straight back to his tent.

Gatsu shut his tent flap, fell to his knees on his bedroll with his back to the entrance, cast aside his trousers, gripped himself, and began to greedily stroke with a vengeance.

God DAMN you you rotten BASTARD I HATE you you lousy fucking perfect gorgeous naked—

He heard the tent flap open behind him.

With a yelp, Gatsu snatched up his trousers and shoved them over his lap.

"Gatsu? Are you alright?"

Gatsu bared his teeth at his bedroll. He heard Griffith take a few steps into his tent. "What bit you?" asked Griffith. "Is it serious? Let me see it."

"NO."

"Come now," said Griffith. "We have herbs we can put on it. Is it red? Is it swelling?"

Gatsu looked over his shoulder to glare in angry suspicion, ready to snarl "You're doing this on purpose!" but one good look at Griffith and his retort vanished.

Griffith had followed Gatsu straight from the field, not even pausing to dress. His temples, neck, and chest were smudged with sweat and the fine lines of his sleek muscles.

He's NAKED and he's in my goddamned TENT—

I HATE you—

Gatsu snatched his eyes away before his gaze could fall downward and become trapped. He throbbed and twitched under his trousers and hands, desperate and miserable and maddened.

"Gatsu?"

"Get OUT," he roared, squeezing his eyes shut. "Get OUT get OUT get OUT!!"

Sudden silence.

And then Griffith said, "As you wish."

Gatsu's eyes opened. He heard Griffith leave without another barb, question, comment, or order.

Gatsu sat and listened. He twisted around. Griffith didn't come back.

Gatsu realized that he wanted him to.

With a frustrated snarl, he threw off his trousers and resettled his hands, falling into a frantic rhythm, thinking of Griffith and how much he wanted—no, HATED him—and his body and scent and touch and eyes and voice and grace and smile and skin and laugh and impossibly unfathomable thoughts…

I hate you, thought Gatsu bitterly, as he climaxed.

I hate you more than anything.

--Hott


End file.
